


The Bunker

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Night Club Owners, Slice of Life sort of, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: The Bunker, like everything else in Dean’s hodge-podge life, happened because Cas wanted it.





	1. Because Cas Wanted It

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
> 
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.
> 
> \- You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
> 
> \- Welcome to another AU inspired by _Bones._ Other than that, I have no idea where this came from or where it's going, but as always, you're welcome to join me on the ride.
> 
> \- Feedback is life.

The Bunker, like everything else in Dean’s hodge-podge life, happened because Cas wanted it.

It’s not that he’s whipped, per se (cue Sam’s obnoxious moose-snort, the traitorous dick) (and for that matter, cue Cas’ lecture about the patriarchy and all the sexist overtones of the term “whipped"), but it’s that Cas asks for so _little._ Cas was happy being the assistant manager of the little diner he worked at when they met. He was happy with his messy studio apartment, covered in books and (mostly) clean clothes. He was just fine.

And when they started being _them_ (because God bless it, they never fucking _dated,_ they’re grown men), he was happy with that, too. Fuck-all knows _why_ he was happy being with a high school dropout bartender with anger issues, an unhealthy attachment to his car, who regularly had arguments with his dog, but he was. He was happy with frozen pizza and boxed mac and cheese while they watched soap operas in their underwear at Dean’s place. He was happy with walking The Colonel on brisk fall mornings with Dean, shyly reaching out to lace their fingers together and then beaming when Dean squeezed his hand and held on.

They moved in together, it was inevitable. Dean knew from the first that Cas was gonna be _It,_ so when Cas started talking about his lease coming up due, Dean thought nothing of offering the other side of his queen bed. If he had had any reservations, the way Cas’ face lit up and his blue eyes softened would have banished them immediately.

Not to mention the mind-blowing, spine-melting blowjob Cas used to show his _enthusiastic_ gratitude.

And so Dean and Cas became Dean-n-Cas, a whole unit, rarely apart. Dean became a fixture at the diner, Cas became a fixture at the end of the bar. They bought clothes and dishes together, Cas researched better quality dog food for The Colonel, and Dean discovered that Cas can’t cook worth a damn.

Dean also discovered the kind of shit Cas’ family put him through. He discovered the crippling anxiety Cas sometimes struggled with, and the bright, vivid fear of abandonment. He learned that the reason Cas doesn’t talk about his parents is that Cas doesn’t talk _to_ his parents, and that his brothers are on his Christmas card list and not much else (also that Cas has a Christmas card list). The struggles he had with finding the drive to get out of bed sometimes, much less find a job and keep his apartment.

And then Cas discovered the fault lines in the landscape of Dean’s own heart and mind. The self-doubt and loathing he carries with him in everything. The almost paralytic need to take care of Sammy, which has led to more than one bad decision on his part. His strained (to put it politely) relationship with his own shitdick, abusive father. Not to mention the mother who couldn’t settle in one place long enough to have a forwarding address, much less take care of two sons. The anger in him, the fighting he used to do almost every night.

So, a few years, a few dogs, a lot of healing, and about a thousand blowjobs down the road, when Cas asked, in his soft, gentle way, if he could show Dean something, of fucking _course_ Dean said yes. Because he’d do goddamn anything for Cas. He’d walk through fire, shoot himself in the leg, drive Baby right off a cliff if Cas wanted him to. Cas is such a loving, soft soul beneath his analytical, too formal exterior, and the fact that he loves Dean’s battered, broken ass means that Cas gets what Cas wants. No question.

They pulled up to a dingy building, settled in a not-so-good part of town between an all-night laundromat and a nondescript business on the other side that has no sign. A few of the windows had been busted out and boarded up, as well as the door. There was a sign over the door at one point, but the only indication of it left was a patch of lighter-colored building where it had been.

“It’s not much…” Cas said, hesitant in that way he gets when he doesn’t know how Dean will respond to something.

Dean just nods, reserving judgment.

“I just thought… Well, you’re a bartender, and I know how to run a restaurant, and it’s already pretty much set up as a bar. I was thinking how nice it would be to have something of our own.” He takes a deep breath. “And you could bring The Colonel in and he could hang out in the office, and eventually, we’d hire a few people, and there’s room for a dance floor in there, and I know you have ideas at the bar that they’re not letting you utilize, and I-”

Dean, at that point, had been studying Cas for a long, long time. He knew, then, a lot of the ins and outs of how Castiel thought. He knows the more now, of course, has travelled them many a time at Cas’ side, but then, he knew enough to realize a few things.

He realized that Cas was _nervous._ Then he realized that Cas was nervous because he wanted this _so much._

There are few moments in his life that Dean can look back on and definitively say, “I did the right thing.” Cutting ties with his father as soon as Sam graduated high school. Following Sam to Stanford and helping his little brother out. Taking the German Shepherd puppy from the shady dude in the Wal-Mart parking lot and refusing to pay him for the little dude.

Saying yes to Cas’ wish to own a nightclub with him.

“Yeah,” he said, cutting Cas off mid-sentence. “Let’s do it.”

Cas’ eyes were wide and delighted. He was frozen. “Yes?” he asked, excited and breathy.

Dean grinned. “Yeah.”

Because Cas wanted it.


	2. A Good Job, Indeed

Any job that lets him sleep until noon is a good job indeed, Dean thinks when he wakes enough to put words together into sentences. When he rolls over to see that he’s alone in the bed, however, he frowns.

Okay. Maybe the job could use a  _ little _ work.

He wishes he could wake up next to Cas every morning (afternoon), but someone has to be there to meet the delivery guy, Garth. It’s the kind of thing that they can probably trust one of their employees with, but Cas thinks it’s unfair to expect that much of them. Especially when the truck gets there at ten in the morning and the club doesn’t open until seven at night.

So it’s Cas’ turn to get his ear talked off by the weird little dude who delivers the groceries once a week and Dean’s turn to pout in bed until he gets up.

* * *

After feeding the dogs, showering, a cup of coffee, and toast, Dean feels almost human when he reaches The Bunker. They’ve come a long way from the shitty building Cas first showed him. Now it’s all sleek lines and neon lights and black on chrome. It reminds him of the Impala, actually.

He comes in through the back (heh) and makes his way to the bar.

The Bunker is basically one giant room. In the middle, dominating the space, is a raised dance floor. On one side of that is an even more raised dais, able to house either a DJ’s set up or a live band. The rest of the room, the lowest level, is dotted with tall tables and stools, all gleaming. For now, the stools rest upside-down on the table tops and all of the lights except the ones from the kitchen and above the bar are turned off.

Dean is grateful to see that Benny and Kevin are already here helping Cas put things away while The Colonel supervises from out of the way, though Benny was expected to be here, anyway. The neighborhood still isn’t the nicest, even all these years later, and Dean has made it explicitly clear that  _ no _ one, but especially not Cas, is to be alone here. Kevin is avoiding his roommate at the dorms, so he’s always fucking here. Dean’s not surprised.

Cas is dressed in a Star Wars t-shirt that’s almost old enough to be called vintage (and almost certainly began life as Dean’s), a ratty pair of jeans, and a pair of converse. His hair is a mess, and he’s still got the grumpy, squinty-eyed look he has in the mornings. He’s so sexy it hurts.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to go to Cas an immediately starts getting into his space. Cas melts back into him in a gratifying way. Dean nuzzles at his neck and wraps his arms around Cas’ waist, pressing his chest to his back.

“Morning,” he grunts.

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas’ voice rumbles through his chest and right into Dean’s, soothing the unsettled feeling that’s always there when he wakes up alone.

“Almost done here, chief,” Benny says, wiping his hands on a rag. He’s called Dean “chief” since the moment they met. Cas is “Mr. N,” a marked improvement from the formal “Mr. Novak” Benny insisted on using until recently.

Dean nods. “Thanks, Benny.” He hooks a chin over Cas’ shoulder. “Doing all right, Kev?”

The young man nods. “Sure thing, Mr. W.”

“Let me order lunch for everyone,” Cas says firmly. “I’d like to show my appreciation for the two of you assisting me.”

Even though it’s technically Benny’s job, Kevin has nowhere else to be, and they both know there would be hell to pay if Dean got here to find Cas by himself, Kevin and Benny both nod. As fierce as Dean is, Cas is a force to be reckoned with all on his own. No one argues with Cas.

Cas orders a few sandwiches to be delivered from a local sub shop while the others start to set up the bar. It’s still a few hours early, but they can pull stools off of the tables and roll any extra silverware they anticipate needing. Cas insists they all sit at a table and eat. Again, no one argues.

After they clean up, Cas goes into the office to start logging the new inventory. Dean and Kevin work on the schedule or the stage, what nights they’ll have live entertainment and what nights Kevin is available to work. The Colonel lies at their feet, content.  Benny is making the security rounds, keeping an eye on the back alleys and front walkways.

Yeah, things could be worse.

* * *

The bass is loud enough to rattle his sternum pleasantly, but the music isn’t turned up so loud that his eardrums are suffering. Kevin knows what he’s doing and the dance floor is packed.

The lower level, while not wall-to-wall people like the dance floor is, is pretty damned crowded. Anna, the cocktail server, is an angel on heels as she glides between and through throngs of patrons. She’s graceful and unobtrusive as she moves.

Their hostess, Charlie, is the absolute opposite. She’s loud, she shoves people out of her way, and she’s wearing high-tops (Dean swears she and Cas go shopping together,  _ Christ). _ But she’s also so aggressively cheerful that it’s hard for anyone to be mad at her for it. Her red hair glows as brightly beneath the dim lights as her wicked grin.

Dean is standing in the kitchen, just out of sight of the crowd. Jo’s a master bartender (not as good as he himself is, in his oh-so-humble opinion), and her hands blur as she pours and mixes. Balthazar is giving him the stink-eye for taking up space, but it's a nightly ritual that lacks any real fire.

Plus, Dean’s the boss. He does what he wants.

They have a good crowd tonight. They’re lively, tipsy enough to have fun but not  _ drunk _ drunk. One of the things both he and Cas were determined to do was make the Bunker a safe place to have fun. Benny keeps an eagle eye on the crowd every night, as do Jo and Dean.

_ We’re getting so popular, though, I’ll probably have to hire a few more people soon. _

Kevin transitions smoothly into the next song, the crowd keeps dancing, and Dean keeps watching.

* * *

After driving Charlie home, since The Bunker closes at three in the morning, long after the buses stop running, Dean, Cas, and The Colonel  _ finally _ get home.

When they open the front door, five friendly faces greet them. All named after mythical creatures from the lore Cas loves and collectively dubbed The Pack by a lazy Dean, most of their dogs are too high-strung to take to work. Only The Colonel comes with them, since he’s laid-back enough to snooze on the dog bed they keep in the office for him, and he’s been registered and trained as an emotional support animal for Cas.

(The old guy is getting quite a bit of grey in his muzzle these days, but his big brown eyes are still warm with adoration for Cas, and he still gets around all right. Dean tries not to worry.)

They let The Pack outside and Dean feeds all of them while Cas starts the shower. Once the dogs are settled, he hurries to join Cas. He flings his clothes off haphazardly and slips into the shower behind Cas.

Without turning, Cas leans back, resting against Dean’s chest. Dean holds him close and presses a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

He has no idea how long they stand in the hot water every night. Mostly, it’s only a few minutes before they begin leisurely washing one another. Sometimes it’s much, much longer on nights when Cas needs time to come back to himself. Or the rarer nights when Dean needs to hold Cas, needs to remind himself that there are good people and that he managed to snag one of the best.

On occasion, their shared shower gets a little handsy. But shower sex is complicated, and they’re both getting a little too old to ignore the king-sized bed in the other room.

Cas signals the end of their quiet time by taking the bar of soap and turning to start washing Dean. For his part, Dean follows Cas’ soft requests to move this way or that. His hands are gentle and thorough.

Once Dean is clean, he returns the favor. The appreciation for Cas’ body hasn’t faded in the time they’ve been together, and he gets half hard just from  _ touching _ his partner. He ignores his low, simmering arousal, though, and so does Cas. Dean always get worked up over Cas, but there’s no urgency to it tonight.

After drying off, brushing (and flossing,  _ ugh) (“Dental hygiene is important, Dean.” “You’d kiss me if my teeth fell out, wouldn’t you, Cas?” “Let’s not test it.”), _ they dress in pajamas and crawl into bed. Dean has to shoo Phoenix and Rugaru off his side of the bed, which means Cas and The Colonel are already cuddled up together when he gets under the covers. Dean grumbles but scoots until his chest is pressed to Cas’ back and he wraps an arm around Cas’ slim waist.

He falls asleep listening to Cas’ and The Colonel’s slow, gentle breathing, just like he does every night, and feels luckier for it every time.


	3. A Good Place

The Bunker, Anna often thinks, is a good place.

She’s been cocktail serving for a long time. She knows her shit. She knows how to walk just enticingly enough to earn extra tips but to dissuade creepers who would hit on her or touch her without her consent (and that thought always sends shudders down her spine). She knows how to smile, to flirt lightly, how to make enough money to not be humiliated by her chosen profession.

She also knows that The Bunker is a good place.

She has been friends with a lot of coworkers, of course. It's hard not to be when you're in the trenches of food service anywhere from twenty to sixty hours a week. A lot of places form a sort of family atmosphere, and she's made some lifelong friends that way.

Not like the ones she has here at The Bunker, though.

Charlie is like the gay sister she didn’t know she needed. There have been many a night when Charlie has shown up, intuitively understanding that Anna shouldn’t be alone, loaded down with movies, popcorn, and ice cream. They crash on Anna’s living room floor and carpool to work the next morning.

(Somehow, they manage to fit in talking about the demons Anna carries, too.)

She can talk to Kevin about music for _days._ The kid is a genius, some sort of prodigy. She knows there’s a story as to why he’s here, _all_ of them have some sort of story, but he hasn’t shared it yet, and Anna doesn’t ask. Jo looks and acts like she’s tough as nails, but she’s really a marshmallow on the inside. Benny is... Well, Benny is _Benny,_ and if he doesn’t think Anna sees the way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn’t notice, he has another thing coming.

And then there’s Cas and Dean.

Cas and Dean aren’t just in love, they’re _everything._ Every move each one of them makes is comfortable, warm, specifically designed for the other. They’re each a whole, complete person, but they complement one another so well you’d never be able to tell. The love shining in their eyes, even when they’re not looking directly at one another, it floors her every time.

Dean is still a little rough around the edges. He’s open about the fact that he was a scrapper when he met Cas, getting into fights almost every night, reopening the wounds on his knuckles before they ever really healed. He says he was too much, too directionless before he met Cas.

Cas is stiff and formal, especially if you don’t know him as she does. His impeccable manners hide a sweet, kind soul that Anna adores, even if he has a few of his own demons, too. He says his people skills were too rusty before he and Dean were together, that he had too hard a time connecting to people, so he just never put forth the effort.

Whatever they were like before, they’re perfect now. And they created The Bunker together, which may very well be a nightclub, but it’s also a home. They didn't just create jobs, they created a family.

It’s her family, anyway.


	4. The Longest Time

_“If you said goodbye to me tonight,  
_ _there would still be music left to write.”_

Charlie is bopping her head to Billy Joel as she helps Anna wipe down the tables as they ready the club to open. Kevin is going through his music choices for the night with Dean and Cas up on the dance floor, but for now, Dean has the controls, so old music it is. He may have a point, though, because Bal is humming from the kitchen as he preps for the night. Even Benny is drumming his fingers against his thigh to the beat.

Charlie is also using her peripherals to watch Jo arrange the bar the way she likes for busy nights like they’re expecting tonight. Charlie and Jo have had a few good nights between them, flaring passion and solid friendship between the sheets. She’s not in love with the fiery blonde or anything, but she’s starting to wonder if Jo wants to get frisky after closing when the corner of her eye catches on something else.

 _“Once I thought my innocence was gone,_ _  
_ _now I know that happiness goes on.”_

Charlie gapes for a second, then walks over as quickly and quietly as possible to snag Anna’s arm. When the pretty server looks up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Charlie jerks her head up toward the dance floor and puts a finger to her lips.

They draw Benny’s attention _(or,_ _more accurately,_ Charlie thinks, _he was already paying attention to Anna),_ and he follows their gazes silently.

Thing is, Mr. W and Mr. N are pretty affectionate in the day-to-day. Mr. W is always reaching out to tangle his fingers with Mr. N’s, or nuzzle Mr. N’s dark hair, or wrap an arm around Mr. N’s waist and pull him snug against him. It’s sweet to see them like that, so loving and gentle even after being together for so long. It gives Charlie hope, especially because Mr. N always leans into Mr. W, always allows the PDA when his partner initiates it.

But Mr. N rarely _actively_ seeks it out.

This is different.

Mr. W is rolling his eyes, and there’s a rosy blush on his cheeks as he allows Mr. N to sweep him across the dance floor in what looks like a waltz. Billy Joel is still crooning, and Mr. N sings along.

_“Maybe this won’t last very long,_   
_but you feel so right,  
I could be wrong.”_

Mr. W is snorting, but his hand curls around Mr. N’s almost tenderly, and Charlie’s cheeks start to ache at how wide she’s smiling.

_“Maybe I've been hoping too hard,_   
_but I've gone this far,  
and it's more than I hoped for.”_

Mr. W is getting into it now, swinging Mr. N around wildly. Mr. N is laughing as he sings, more carefree than Charlie has ever seen him. She looks over to Anna, wide-eyed and wanting to share her surprise, but Anna is just _staring_ their bosses (surrogate fathers?). Her slim hand is covering her mouth, and her eyes have gone misty with emotion. When Charlie looks over at Benny, he’s looking up at them, too, mouth quirked up at one side in a smirk.

_“I'll take my chances._   
_I forgot how nice romance is.  
I haven't been there for the longest time.”_

Charlie looks up again, watching them twirl around the dance floor. Mr. W effortlessly spins Mr. N, and for a moment, Charlie sees them as they were when they were younger. They’re not _elderly_ or anything, but she’s in her early twenties, and they both have grey starting to show up at their temples (very attractive, she’s assured by those who fancy that particular gender).

For just a split second, she sees Mr. W, thinner, with features that could be classified as delicate, eyes sparkling at his partner. And Mr. N is almost scrawny, still with his solemn air but his eyes are twinkling back at Mr. W and his lips are tilted up at the corners.

She’s knocked back into the present when Mr. N suddenly pulls Mr. W close, and it begins to feel like they’re all intruding on something intimate and precious.

 _“I don't care what consequence it brings, I have been a fool for lesser things,”_ Mr. W is singing, his voice low and whiskey-rough.

Mr. N is smiling warmly, an expression rare enough that Charlie has only seen it a time or two. _“I want you so bad, I think you ought to know that I intend to hold you for the longest time.”_

The music and the background singers start to fade, and the men slowly spin to a stop, just holding one another close and pressing their foreheads together. It’s the goddamn cutest, gayest thing Charlie has ever seen in her _life,_ and she looks in the mirror every day, thankyouverymuch.

The bosses seem to realize that they have an audience at the same time. They don’t pull away from one another, but they straighten, and Mr. W glares out at all of them playfully.

“Don’t you people have _jobs_ to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter brought to you by my husband, who danced with me in the kitchen to [this song](https://youtu.be/a_XgQhMPeEQ) while I baked on Thanksgiving morning.
> 
> \- I know that it's kind of confusing with Charlie referring to them as Mr. W and Mr. N, but that's how she thinks of them, so... You know. Sorry.


	5. Easy to Miss

Mr. N cares. It’s easy to miss because Mr. N is formal, difficult to understand, and frequently misses social cues, but Mr. N cares. A  _ lot. _

It’s easiest to see when the weather gets cold, especially at Christmas. Because of the hats.

The whole crew at The Bunker wears crocheted beanies all through the colder months. Benny’s is a solemn grey, Anna’s is black with subtle glitter in it, and Charlie’s is an eye-smarting shade of yellow. Bal’s is black, too, and Jo’s is a deep purple. Kevin’s own is his favorite (obviously), a dark shade of maroon, and Mr. N. and Mr. W wear hats that match one another’s eye colors, as gag-inducingly cute as that is.

That’s not all, though. There’s a box in the office full of them in a hundred different colors. Whenever someone leaves the club, if Mr. N sees that they’re hatless, he insists that they pick one to take home.

“It’s cold,” he’ll say to the baffled, usually tipsy guest. “You must keep warm.”

At first, they were taken warily. Now it’s common knowledge. If you come to The Bunker, the owner will make you take a hat to stay warm.

Kevin has no idea when Mr. N has the  _ time. _ There are so many hats, new ones every year. He’s got to be making them all year round, right? Sitting at home, surrounded by dogs and yarn. Right?

Sure, it’s a little weird. Hell, Mr. N himself is more than a little weird. But it’s nice, too, really nice.

The thing is, there aren’t a lot of people around who care about Kevin these days. In fact, it sometimes seems like no one at all cares. Not about him, or if he’s eating, or if he’s doing his homework, or if he’s warm.

Except at The Bunker.

Here, Mr. W makes sure he has time for class  _ and _ homework when he’s making the schedule. Bal makes sure to send him home with leftovers. Benny gives him a ride back to the dorm to make sure he’s safe. Charlie makes sure he has nerdy video games with her at least once a month.

And Mr. N makes sure he’s warm, along with everyone else, with his soft, worried blue eyes and his soft, handmade hats.

It’s easy to miss. But Mr. N cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Merry Everything and Happy Always, my loves. May whatever holidays you celebrate be blessed and full of warmth. <3


	6. Iceland, Baby

Jo says, “I gotta go back down to part-time. Classes are starting up again.”

Dean groans and lets his head thump down on his desk. He ignores Jo’s consoling hand patting him on the shoulder.

“I _hate_ hiring.”

* * *

Dean hates hiring, but after two weeks of interviews, he decides that he doesn’t mind Nick.

The guy is charming, into classic cars and classic rock. He’s objectively good-looking, Dean guesses, and a shameless flirt. He fills out the plain black tee he wears with obvious muscle, too, which will be useful if Benny ever needs backup.

Dean smiles and reaches across his desk to shake Nick’s hand. “I think you’ll fit in here just fine.”

* * *

Deans not stupid. He knows what he looks like, and he knows what another man’s interest looks like. He just doesn’t give a fuck. How could he? He has Cas.

* * *

Everyone likes Nick. He’s friendly, smart, funny, and handsome. He fits in with everyone here, and his first two weeks go by very smoothly. Everyone likes Nick.

Except for Anna.

She couldn’t say why, but there’s something… Slimy about him.  He’s never anything but a perfect gentleman to her, but she doesn’t trust him. He wants something that he’s not saying.

He’s a snake in her Eden, and Anna doesn’t like him.

* * *

“So, what’s the deal with Dean and Castiel?”

Charlie looks up from the silverware she’s wrapping and blinks. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Nick is standing next to her _(when did he get there?)_ and he starts wrapping, too. “What’s the story there?”

A trickle of unease works its way down Charlie’s spine. “I repeat, what do you mean?

“I know they’re together, but I guess I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

Nick shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Dean is just so… Bight. Personable? I don’t know, he seems so outgoing. And Castiel is… A little bit of a cold fish, don’t you think?”

Anger begins to burn beneath Charlie’s skin. She manages to keep her cool, but only barely. “Nick,” she grits out, “word of advice? You’re gonna want to keep that particular opinion to yourself.”

Nick blinks in surprise. “Well, of course, I’d never say anything to _Dean,_ but I-”

“From all of us,” she interrupts firmly. “Just don’t say that shit to anyone here. We all like Mr. N just the way he is.”

Nick sets down the silverware and raises his hands in surrender. “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

“And another thing? Mr. N and Mr. W are solid. That’s the wrong damn tree to bark at.”

* * *

“That’s the wrong damn tree to bark at.”

Castiel knows that eavesdropping is terribly rude, of course, but when he realized that Charlie and Nick were talking about him, he was unable to decide if it would be more awkward to interrupt or to pretend he wasn’t there.

He _still_ isn’t sure, but he goes back to his office without alerting Charlie or Nick to his presence.

The Colonel greets him with a tail wag when he gets there. Castiel gives him a brief scritch behind the ears, then sits in his desk chair to think.

He doesn’t really have an opinion on Nick yet. He knows Dean likes him, and he trusts Dean. The new bartender seems to be friendly enough, and the rest of the team likes him.

Castiel is well aware of the effect Dean has on others, though. It’s not the first time someone has been taken in by Dean’s green eyes or his dazzling smile. Castiel isn’t truly worried, because, after all this time, he knows that Dean will never waver. The bond they have is profound, unshakable. It’s not the first time something like this has happened, and he is not worried. It’s not even the first time someone has questioned their compatibility.

It’s the first time he’s heard it, though, and the first time for the term “cold fish.”

* * *

Try as he might, Castiel can’t get the idea out of his head.

Once they drop Charlie off that night, he turns to Dean from the passenger seat of the Impala.

“Do you think I’m perceived as a ‘cold fish?’”

 _“What?”_ Dean splutters, eyes darting over to look at him incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

“I know I’m overly formal, and that I often miss social cues.”

Dean is outright frowning. “Where is this coming from?”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow. “Answer the question, please.”

“Cas, no,” Dean says with an easy smile that makes Castiel feel better, as it has every time it has been directed at him. “You’re like Iceland, baby. Cool to the touch, but underneath? You’re all volcano.”

Castiel smiles because Dean is ridiculous, but he’s also wonderful, and Castiel loves him very much. “Thank you.”

“Where did this come from?”

Dean likes Nick, and so does the crew. “It’s nothing.”

“My ass,” Dean grumbles. “Look, I know it, and so does everyone who matters. Just because you’re weird doesn’t mean anything.” He reaches across the bench seat to tangle their fingers together. “You’re still the best person I know, baby, and the best thing that ever happened to me. No matter what anyone says.”

Perhaps there was the _smallest_ kernel of doubt in Castiel’s heart, but Dean’s words banish it completely. _He’s right, of course._

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “I love you.”

Dean brings their hands up so he can press a kiss to Castiel’s knuckles. “I love you, too.”

A few minutes pass in comfortable silence before Dean speaks again.

“Who said it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t give me that hippie, ‘turn the other cheek’ bullshit,” Dean says without heat. “Tell me.”

Castiel smiles. _My fiercest defender._ “No.”

“Dammit.”

* * *

It eats at Charlie.

Not that she’s worried about her bosses’ relationship. They’re good, they’re still goals. She’s worried about _Nick._

Nick came to her when she was alone and _then_ asked his weird, snake-in-the-grass question. It was sneaky and underhanded, and Charlie thinks that that behavior isn’t the kind of thing she wants at The Bunker.

Which is how she finds herself knocking on the office door when she knows Mr. N is out front and it’s just Mr. W in there.

“Come in,” he calls.

She obeys, and Mr. W’s eyebrows go up when she carefully shuts the door behind her. She sits in the threadbare chair in front of the big desk, nervous but determined.

Mr. W sits forward. “What’s up, Charles?”

“It’s… Well, it’s about Nick.”

* * *

Dean likes to think he’s a pretty laid-back boss. He’s not strict about start times, and he frequently lets the crew go home early if it’s a slow night. There’s no dress code. He doesn’t mind Bal cooking dinner for the crew if he has time. He’s generous with time off, or at least he tries to be.

He is not, however, laid-back about Cas.

“I just don’t think you’re a good fit, Nick. I have your last paycheck here, tonight was your last night with us.”

* * *

Dean hates hiring, but he loves Cas more. He’ll just cover the bar shifts until they find someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The "Iceland, baby" scene is the one I had in mind when I started this fic. Directly inspired by the Laboratory episode of _Bones._


	7. Well-Versed in Castiel's Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **\- TRIGGER WARNING** in the end notes. Please scroll down to read it or proceed with caution.

_ A long, brightly lit hallway. It’s sterile, white, impersonal. Doors line the walls. The little windows in each of them show that the rooms beyond are dark. There are numbers on each of them, but Castiel can’t read them. _

_ He’s small, and someone is leading him by the hand down the hall, but they’re going too  _ fast. _ Castiel is almost running to keep up with the adult’s long strides. It’s overwhelming, and a pervading sense of urgency and inadequacy has tears welling in his eyes and falling down his cheeks as he runs. _

* * *

_ “He’s disturbed, and quite slow, to boot.” _

_ “Mrs. Novak, I don’t agree. I think-” _

_ “I think I know my own son, doctor. I want him admitted immediately.” _

_ “I just think that-” _

_ “Does he not act like a disturbed individual? Did you not observe him?” _

_ “I-I did, but-” _

_ “I expect him to be admitted and medicated immediately. Am I understood?” _

_ “... Of course, Mrs. Novak.” _

* * *

_ His room is never really dark. Light always comes in from the hallway, even at night. It makes it difficult for him to sleep, so he stares up at the ceiling. _

_ The voices are constant background noise now. It’s like a hundred voices whispering behind him. He’s very aware of them, but he can’t quite discern what they’re saying. _

_ They started after his second dose of this new medication. He immediately told the doctor how terrified he was and begged to be taken off of them. The doctor hemmed and hawed, and Castiel realized that his mother must have signed off on another drug trial. There will be no relief from these new side effects. _

_ So Castiel stares at the ceiling and listens to the voices he knows aren’t real. _

_ Hopefully. _

* * *

_ He can’t keep up, no matter how fast he runs. _

* * *

_ “He’s disturbed.” _

* * *

_ He can’t quite make out what they’re saying. _

* * *

Castiel shudders awake with a harsh, full-body twitch. His chest is heaving with frantic breath and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat.

A warm stirring behind him, then Dean’s sleep-roughed voice. “Cas?” When Castiel can’t bring himself to respond with anything but a gasp, he feels Dean sit up behind him. “Oh, sweetheart.” Sorrow is thick in the words.

Dean presses a gentle kiss to Castiel’s shoulder before the bed dips again as he slips away.

Castiel’s breathing is still too fast when he feels warm, damp huffing against his face. The Colonel nudges his cheek, whining sofly. Castiel doesn’t hesitate to bury his fingers in the thick fur and press his face against The Colonel’s shoulder. The big dog is warm and soft and infinitely comforting.

He works to even out his breathing as he listens to Dean move around in their bathroom. A drawer opens and closes, the cabinet door swings shut, and the water goes on and off a few times before Dean comes back into the bedroom.

He sits behind Castiel again, and then a warm, damp cloth is tenderly washing away the sweat on his shoulders, neck, and temples. He feels Dean behind him, all warmth and leashed strength, and Castiel leans back against him shamelessly.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean murmurs. “I’ve gotcha, just let me take care of you.”

Dean is well-versed in Castiel’s nightmares. He knows about the variety of psychiatric institutions Castiel’s mother forcibly admitted him to as a child, about the kind-hearted nurse, Missouri, who figured out that Castiel wasn’t insane and helped him become emancipated at sixteen, about the struggles Castiel still has with anxiety, overstimulation, and self-worth.

Dean has seen all of the ugliness that lives in Castiel’s mind, and he has met it every time with kindness and warmth.

The reasons Castiel Novak loves Dean Winchester are many, and all are well-deserved.

“Drink,” Dean says, urging Castiel to sit up and take the glass of water from him. Castiel acquiesces easily, never moving far from the solid warmth Dean’s chest offers. Dean combs his fingers through Castiel’s hair and kisses his shoulder and neck again while Castiel drinks. Once he’s done, Dean takes the empty glass and puts it back on the nightstand. Then he tugs Cas back to lying down and pulls him close, wrapping his arms tight around Castiel.

“I love you,” Castiel murmurs into Dean’s chest.

“Love you, too, sweetheart,” Dean whispers, pressing another kiss to the top of Cas’ head. “Come on, you big mutt.”

The Colonel crowds close and lies along Cas’ back, his rump pressing against Cas’ tailbone and his big chest moving rhythmically against Castiel.

With The Colonel behind him and Dean curled around his front, Castiel falls asleep again easily. This time, there are no dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW:** Descriptions/implications of Castiel being admitted/kept in a psychiatric facility, as well as drugged and enrolled in drug testing trials, against his will as a child.
> 
> \- Poor baby Cas.


	8. Sundays

The Bunker is closed on Sundays. Not for religious reasons, but business is always slower on Sundays, anyway, and Dean figures everyone deserves at least one set day off. He rotates who gets Mondays off (another exceptionally slow day), but Sundays the club is closed.

It’s not-so-secretly his favorite day of the week.

* * *

He wakes up before Cas, just like he does every Sunday. Cas  _ despises _ mornings, so he’s dead to the world when Dean’s natural alarm clock wakes him. When he rolls over, Cas’ face is smashed into the pillow and The Colonel, and he’s snoring lightly. Dean suppresses a laugh, leans over to press a gentle kiss to Cas’ cheek, and pushes at Rugaru until she hops off of the bed so he can get out of bed himself.

He stretches hard, then silently leads Rugaru, Phoenix, and Kitsune out of the bedroom. His girls know the drill, so they’re all quiet until he shuts the bedroom door behind him. The Colonel stays in bed with Cas, and he’ll be there until Cas gets up.

Dean lets the rest of The Pack out into the backyard, then sets about getting breakfast ready. First, he brews strong coffee for himself and sets up the tea kettle to get it ready for Cas (Cas is on this tea kick recently, and it looks like it might be around to stay, so Dean is adjusting). He starts chopping vegetables and getting ingredients ready for omelettes. He’s only a few minutes into this routine, and into his cup of coffee, when a deliciously rumpled Cas comes into the kitchen.

Cas lets The Colonel into the back yard, then makes a beeline for Dean. Dean doesn’t even look up from where he’s stirring the eggs, veggies, and diced ham together in a pan, he just lifts his arm so Cas can slip under it, snuffling sweetly into Dean’s neck and plastering himself to Dean’s side. Dean holds him close, pressing a hard kiss to his forehead.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.”

Cas grunts, but doesn’t otherwise respond, and Dean grins.

_ Goddamn, I’m lucky. _

* * *

They hit the grocery store before lunch. Cas decides that he feels well enough to leave The Colonel at home, but he sticks real close to Dean as they navigate the aisles.

This is the opposite of a problem for Dean, except that he wishes Cas didn’t feel so on edge all the time.

Right now, though, Cas is frowning down at a bag of “veggie pasta,” whatever that means. There’s a furrow between his brows as he reads over the ingredients (and, really, how many ingredients could “veggie pasta” have in it to begin with?) with an air of solemnity that would be right at home investigating crimes or slaying demons, but is a touch out of place in a grocery store.

_ Goddamn, I love him. _

“Dean,” Cas says, “would you be opposed to trying this? I think we should take steps to incorporate more vegetable-based products in our diet and eliminate some of the animal-based foods.”

Dean smiles. Would he give up bacon for Cas? Oh, he’d bitch and moan about it, but yeah. In the end, if Cas wants it, Dean will do it.

_ Man, I hope he doesn’t want that. _

“Sure thing, Cas,” he says easily. “Stick it in the cart.”

* * *

After lunch at a cafe that Cas adores and Dean doesn’t hate, they divvy up dogs to take to the park. The Colonel always goes with them, and today it’s Golem and Phoenix who join him.

Cas doesn’t believe that off-leash dog parks are safe, and Dean agrees, so they end up going to a pretty popular walking trail. The day is brisk but sunny, the feeling of spring finally waking up the world around them. The dogs all walk easily side-by-side, and Dean holds Cas’ hand because he knows Cas likes it as they walk.

It’s been a stressful week. With Cas’ nightmare recurring early int he week and Dean’s search for a bartender, they both needed some peace today. With the birds singing, the sun highlighting the dark browns and so-black-it’s-almost-blues in Cas’ messy hair, and the three dogs behaving like angels, Dean feels like they’re getting it.

“Hey,” he says softly, squeezing Cas’ hand in his gently. “I love you.”

Cas lights up and beams at him. “I love you, too, Dean.”

* * *

Late in the evening, after dinner (and, okay, vegetable pasta isn’t  _ that _ bad, but he still doesn’t wanna give up bacon), Dean is watching a history documentary through heavy-lidded eyes. The Colonel is lying at his feet, head resting atop his ankles, and Rugaru is curled up next to him on the couch.

Cas is sitting in a big wingback chair situated next to the couch. There’s a massive basket next to the chair that’s overflowing with different colors and styles of yarn. The crochet hook is a blur in Cas’ long, skilled fingers. Now that the cold weather has passed, Cas makes blankets for a local orphanage and foster program. The blankets are beautiful, and once they land in a child’s hands, they belong to that child forever. There are teenagers who write Cas through the orphanage, thanking him for the first thing they ever owned.

Sometimes it intimidates Dean, what a wonderful person Cas is. He wonders what he could ever do to deserve someone like that.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Cas catches his eye with a knowing look.

“Are you all right?” Cas asks softly.

Dean smiles wide. “Yeah, babe.”

Cas returns his smile. “Okay, then.”

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Cas’ smile widens impossibly. “And I, you, Dean.’

* * *

When he was younger, Dean’s favorite Cas was naked Cas. All that pale, smooth skin, his to touch and kiss and mark up? It was no contest.

Now that they’re older, his favorite Cas when he’s getting ready for bed in the winter. When it’s cold out, Cas sleeps in old, faded long-sleeved tee-shirts and flannel pajama pants. He’s all warm, cozy softness then, and Dean can’t get enough of it.

Cas has foregone the pants in deference to the weather warming up, but he’s still wearing his long-sleeved tee when he crawls into bed next to Dean. When Cas is tired, he’s not subtle about cuddling, so he drops onto Dean like dead weight and pushes and pokes him until he’s right where Cas wants him. Dean ends up on his back with Cas’ arm thrown over his chest and Cas’ face mashed into his shoulder.

“I love you,” Cas says, all sweet and rough and sleep-slurred.

Dean smiles into the darkness as he listens to Chupacabra and Rugaru curl up next to one another on the dog beds in the corner (that won’t last long, the minute Dean falls asleep they’ll be up on the bed next to him). The Colonel, as always, is on the bed next to Cas, already settled in for the night.

_ Goddamn, I love Sundays. _

“I love you, too, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- If you're interested in the charity that Cas participates in, you can look up Project Linus [here](https://www.projectlinus.org/). It's a cause that's near and dear to my heart.


	9. 1 Corinthians 13:4

Charlie is setting up her drawer for opening when the phone rings. She answers without looking at the caller ID.

“‘Sup, this is The Bunker.”

“Hello, this is Ellie from Crain Veterinary Clinic. Is a Dean Winchester available?”

Charlie frowns and stops counting money. _Crain Veterinary?_

“Uh, I can see if-”

“Charlie!” Mr. W rounds the bar, smiling. He looks tired, like he has for a couple of weeks now, with shadows beneath his eyes. He’s been drinking more coffee, too, and more distracted.

_What is going on?_

He points to the phone. “That for me?”

She nods and holds it out silently. Mr. W takes it, winks, and makes his way back down the hall to the offices.

“Ellie,” Charlie hears him say, “how are we looking?”

 _Weird,_ she thinks as she restarts her count. _Very weird._

* * *

But it’s _not_ just weird. Crain Veterinary is where Mr. W and Mr. N take their dogs, and why would they be calling if nothing was wrong?

_Is something wrong with the dogs? Is it The Colonel? Oh, God, I hope it’s not The Colonel. Or Kitsune. Or Phoenix. Or, fuck. Any of them. Oh, no._

Charlie loves The Pack like they’re her own. She doesn’t have kids yet, though she wants them fiercely, and she can’t have pets in her apartment, so she’s imprinted _hard_ on The Pack. She loves each furry member like they’re a part of her family because they _are._ On Thanksgiving every year she ends up on the floor with the dogs piled around her. She buys stocking stuffers for all of their stockings at Christmas. Last year she borrowed Chupacabra to be a dwarf to her Bilbo for Halloween when she, Jo, and Kevin went in a Hobbit-themed group to a party.

She just… She _loves_ The Pack, and what if something’s wrong?

* * *

She doesn’t share her concerns with anyone else. She wants to, she really does, but everyone feels the same way she does about Mr. W and Mr. N’s dogs, and she’s just not willing to freak anyone else out.

Mr. W assures her several times that it’s nothing, just some paperwork. But Mr. W is a lying liar who lies and is also _really bad at lying,_ so she doesn’t believe him for a second. Mr. N, on the other hand, tells her kindly but firmly that it’s being handled and that she shouldn’t worry at all, but that all of the dogs are fine. She would believe him, she really would, but even though Mr. N probably isn’t _capable_ of lying, she suspects that his poker face is out of this world. How is she supposed to trust anything he says?

Crain Veterinary Clinic won’t tell her anything, some hogwash about proprietary information and HIPAA laws. _And,_ to make matters worse, their business is almost exclusively done on pen and paper, so she can’t even use less than legal means to find the answers she’s looking for!

Not that she would, of course.

So she very quietly panics and loses sleep over the next two weeks.

* * *

Finally, on a Thursday night when it’s going to be pretty slow and Mr. W isn’t around, Mr. N appears at her side.

She squeaks and drops the stack of menus she’d been gathering in her arms. Mr. N helps her, all stiff and stoic like always, and then neatly stacks them on the shelf just beneath the top of the podium.

Admittedly, she’s not at her best. Her hair is thrown into a messy bun that’s actually kind of a genuine mess and not artfully tousled. Her eyeliner’s a little shaky, she knows, and she just _looks_ worn out. Which she _is._

“Charlie,” Mr. N says, his voice gravelly and stern, “I’d like you to come with me, if you please.”

Charlie’s eyebrows go up. “What? Where? Why?”

“It’s a private matter, but I’ll tell you before we leave so you can feel more comfortable getting in the car with me.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. She appreciates the thought, she really does, but it’s not because she doesn’t trust Mr. N. _Jeeze._ It’s just… Out of the ordinary.

She waves her hand at the podium. “What about hostessing?”

Like a miracle given form, Anna appears next to her, becoming the second person making Charlie jump and squeak in a ten-minute timespan. Anna seems unperturbed.

“I can host until you get back,” she says, her soft voice lilting and pretty. “It’s going to be slow, anyway.”

The corner of Mr. N’s mouth goes up at Anna. “Thank you, Anna,” he says.

* * *

They’re in Mr. N’s tan pimpmobile when they pull up to a short, squat building that’s got a full parking lot. There are signs hanging on the door, but they’re too far away to read them.

Mr. N turns the car off and turns to Charlie, who’s already speaking.

“What are we doing here? What’s going on? Does this have to do with why the vet’s office called? Mr. N, I-”

Mr. N’s chuckle cuts her off. “Charlie, please,” he says with a smile. “Just come with me.”

They go into the building, and the signs become clearer as they approach.

**_Mutt Dog Show!_ **

**_We need YOUR vote to pick the Best Mutt in Show!_ **

**_Have you entered YOUR pup in the Mutt Dog Show?_ **

Charlie is hella confused, so she just follows Mr. N. When they get into the building, they follow a long hallway into a big room that must dominate most of the space in the building. It’s an open area, with chairs lining the walls and another row or two of people standing behind those. All in all, there must be almost two hundred people here.

And _dogs._ There are dogs _everywhere._ Different sizes, colors, and breeds. Some are friendly and socializing with other dogs, others are being calmed by their owners, and some are just asleep at their owners’ feet.

“What is this?” she asks, her voice filled with wonder.

“Dean puts on a fundraiser for the local animal shelter every year,” Mr. N says with a soft, adoring smile on his face. “This year, we did a dog show, and our regular vet clinic graciously agreed to host it, since we spend so much time there.”

Charlie blinks and looks around. Sure enough, there are a few people (Mr. W included) who have on bright green t-shirts with the word VOLUNTEER emblazoned on the back. They’re handing out tickets, numbers to pin to the leashes of the contestants, and lists of rules for the owners who have submitted their dogs.

“Why…” Charlie shakes her head. “Wait, why wouldn’t he just _tell_ me that? Why all this secrecy! And, hey! I could have helped! The whole crew would have helped, you know that.” They’re a family, dammit!

“First Corinthians, thirteen-four,” Mr. N says.

Charlie blinks. She knows, of course, that Mr. W comes from a family who was religious, but both he and his brother are lapsed to the extreme. Neither of them practices any sort of faith as far as she knows.

“Huh?”

“‘Charity suffers long and is kind,” Mr. N says, his eyes glued to Mr. W, “'charity envies not. Charity brags not itself, it is not puffed up.’”

_“Oh.”_

Mr. N nods. “Dean is not a practicing Christian anymore, as you well know, but he keeps some of the lessons he was taught. He believes that to be true charity, it must be anonymous. His name is nowhere on the fundraiser, and if it weren’t for the time he has to spend organizing all this, he wouldn’t have told me, either.”

Everything falls into place, then. The exhaustion, the trouble focusing, the increased caffeine intake.

 _“Oh,”_ she breathes again, and she can feel herself getting a little misty-eyed.

“I wouldn’t have told you, but I knew you were beginning to worry,” Mr. N says. “I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself, Charlie, please. It’s very important to Dean.”

“Of course,” she says softly. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The quoted verse is taken from the King James version of the bible. I believe different translations are very different, the oft-quoted "love is kind" verse instead.
> 
> \- Another chapter inspired by _Bones._


	10. I'm Looking for Dean Winchester

Cas sees the young man before he knocks on the Bunker’s front door. Tall, blonde, good-looking. He’s got a worn backpack slung over one of his shoulders. If Cas had to guess, he’d say the young man is about ten years younger than Dean and himself, maybe closer to fifteen.

_ Probably here for the bartending job, _ he thinks, watching intently as the newcomer raises his fist and knocks.

The sound has become quite commonplace over the last several weeks. After everything that went down with Nick, Dean has been especially wary of hiring someone to fill Jo’s open hours. Everyone has pitched in, Dean and Charlie and Anna. Even Sam has worked a bar shift or two over these last weeks.

(Not Cas, never Cas. It still overwhelms him, the demands of working behind the bar, and his hands often tremble too much to reliably navigate all of that glassware.)

So Cas feels that it’s quite reasonable to assume that the young man is another bartender hopeful. Dean is in the back, pulling inventory to the front with Benny’s help, so Cas wipes his hands on a bar towel and goes to let the young man in.

“Hello,” Cas says as he opens the door. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, uh,” the boy replies, eyes moving rapidly to take everything around him in. “I’m looking for Dean Winchester?”

Cas nods. “Of course, Mr…”

The young man startles. “Oh, uh, sorry. Adam. My name is Adam Milligan.”

Cas smiles. “Welcome. My name is Castiel, I own The Bunker with Dean. Please, come have a seat while we wait for him to come back.”

“Oh, is he…”

“He’s just in the back.”

Cas leads Adam, who seems very nervous, to the bar. He’s no good at small talk (Dean assures him that it’s endearing, but Cas thinks Dean is probably biased) so he doesn’t even try. When they get there and Adam is settled (but quite fidgety) on a barstool, though, Cas is struck with the urge to put the young man at ease.

(Unusual in itself, really, since Cas rarely feels that way about anyone but family.)

“Have you done this before?” he asks.

Adam blinks. “Huh? Done what?”

Cas tilts his head in confusion. “Tended bar? Applied for employment? Attempted to secure an interview? Whichever applies most to what’s making you nervous at the moment.”

Adam frowns. The expression makes him look familiar, somehow. “I’m not here for a job.”

Cas cocks an eyebrow. “Then what  _ are _ you here for?”

“Like I said, I’m looking for Dean Winchester.”

Alarm bells start going off in Castiel’s head. “For what, precisely?”

“I’m his half-brother,” Adam says simply.

Cas feels his eyes widen, and Charlie gasps from where she was not-so-subtly eavesdropping. Apparently, he did  _ not _ hear Dean and Benny come back up front.

“Excuse the  _ fuck _ outta me,” Dean growls from behind Castiel, “but  _ what _ the  _ fuck _ did you just say?”

* * *

There is some shouting, some throwing things, and more than a few glasses are smashed. Finally, Castiel and Benny get Dean shut up in the back office with a bottle of whiskey and a demand to leave the opened wounds on his knuckles for Castiel to disinfect. Cas also tired to leave The Colonel with him, but Dean insisted that he wanted the big German Shepherd with Cas instead, because he “doesn’t trust that damn kid one bit.”

So The Colonel sits solemnly next to Castiel, big brown eyes trained steadily on Adam.

“I just…” Adam is saying, staring down at the bar where his wringing hands rest, “I don’t know, I guess. What I was thinking, coming here.”

Castiel examines Adam closely. While Dean was shouting and punching the bartop, Adam looked genuinely frightened. Moreso than the situation called for, Cas thinks. A kind of fear that lives outside of the fear for one’s physical safety.

A kind of fear that Castiel is intimately acquainted with.

“Forgive the presumption, but were you, perhaps, searching for family?”

Adam blanches, then rushes to explain. “Look, you guys are set up here, and I’m not looking for a handout or anything. I just thought… Well, I don’t know, but I can go, I’ll find something somewhere. I just-”

_ Ah, _ Castiel thinks,  _ he’s homeless. _

He watches Adam, whose similarities to Dean and Sam become more apparent by the minute, as he stumbles over an explanation. If he’s homeless, it’s quite recent. His clothes are dusty but not grimy, and he’s at least had the opportunity to kee his face and hands clean. His bag is worn, yes, but it hasn’t needed any patching yet that Castiel can see.

“Adam,” he says, interrupting the boy abruptly, “what  _ precisely _ drove you to seek Dean out?”

Adam swallows hard, then lifts his gaze to meet Cas’ and speaks.

* * *

When Cas joins Dean in the office a short time later, Dean is staring into the tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. A glance at the bottle tells Cas that it’s probably only the second one he’s poured. He’s proud of DDean for his restraint, but now’s not the time to bring attention to it.

“Well?” Dean asks, his voice flat.

Castiel pulls one of the chairs from across the desk around so he’s sitting next to Dean. As he’s pulling the first aid kit from the bottom drawer of the desk, The Colonel goes to flop onto his bed gracelessly in the corner.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Cas says, pulling Dean’s bleeding right hand into his lap and opening the first aid kit. “He knows your father, at least well enough to not like him. He seems quite earnest.”

Dean rakes his other hand through his hair and snorts. “Yeah, just like the fucker to have a kid we didn’t know about. Shouldn't surprise me, I guess. Probably has another few of them running around.”

It’s something Castiel has considered. “Perhaps.”

“Called Sam. He’s on his way. Sounded as surprised as I was. Handling it better, of course.”

Cas frowns down at the cotton swab he’s using to clean Dean’s wound. “There is no wrong or right way to handle this situation, Dean.”

“Pretty sure yelling and breaking shit is the wrong way, babe.” Cas starts to protest, but Dean waves it off. “What does the kid want?”

This is where Castiel must be exceptionally careful. He keeps any inflection from his voice whatsoever as he starts to tenderly wrap Dean’s hand in gauze.

“He was raised by his mother, who he says worked very hard to provide for him. He’s pre-med, and credits her with getting him that far.”

Dean frowns. “Sounds like the good life.”

“It was, I believe, until he came out to her.”

Dean winces. “Shit.”

“Indeed. She kicked him out, and since he was planning to take a semester off to work and save up, he has nowhere to live until he goes back to school,” Cas says as he finishes taping the gauze. He places a gentle kiss on the back of Dean’s hand and raises his eyes to Dean’s.

Dean’s own eyes are steady, pleading. “What do I do here, Cas? What’s the right thing?”

Blood has always meant something more, something profound to Dean (though he’s just as passionate about their chosen family). To discover he has another brother, one he had no knowledge of, whose life he has not been in, and who he has had no opportunity to protect, but who is ultimately a stranger, must be quite confusing.

“This isn’t a decision I can help you make, Dean,” Cas says even as he twines his fingers through Dean’s and squeezes very gently. “But I love you very much, and I will fully support you whatever you choose.”

That’s quite true. If Dean wants Adam to stay, Cas will warmly welcome him. If Dean wants Adam out, though, Cas will send him on his way (with a hat, some cash, and a hot meal). It’s not as though Castiel has any contact at all with any of his own family, he would be throwing stones from a glass house, should he choose to throw them.

He will stand with Dean, free of judgement either way, but this must be Dean’s decision alone.

Dean leans forward to rest his head on their clasped hands. “Goddammit,” he rasps. “Cas, I don’t know what to do.”

Cas just holds onto Dean’s hand and waits.


	11. We're All Family Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This chapter is a series of flashbacks, of a sort, from the crew's POVs.

Benny knew Dean before Mr. N had even met him, though it would be years before they introduced themselves.

They were both brawlers, aimless and violent and angry. Benny would see him around town, sometimes across the bar during a free for all. He was a twink, really, a tall twink in a leather jacket with an angry spark in his green eyes. Benny took note of him, but that was all.

Benny’s not proud of those years of his life, but he doesn’t lie about them, either. He was in a gang, a violent one, and it was a bad crew. It wasn’t until Andrea was lost to senseless violence, a gunshot no one could tell him the origin of, that he got out.

Without the gang, though, he was lost, aimless. He did some drugs, slept around, and let his life lose meaning. He was prepared to die that way without his Andrea.

Until a familiar twink sat down next to him at a bar, introduced himself as Dean, and talked about a job offer with no long-term guarantees. He talked about loss, how he and his partner were familiar with it, and how they wanted to help Benny get back on his feet if he’d come to work with them (always “with,” never “for”).

“Why?” Benny had asked. “Gotta be easier people to hire, brotha.”

Dean had shrugged. “Well, I told Cas a little bit about you, and he’s got a big heart. He wants to help. Thinks it’s ‘destiny’ that we knew each other, and that we need someone to help with security and that you’re a little lost right now.” A smile had graced Dean’s lips. “Cas is real good at finding lost people and bringin’ ‘em on home.”

The way Dean had looked when he’d talked about Cas made Benny think of Andrea, how Andrea had seen the best in people no matter what, even when she’d been proven wrong. How she’d urged him to do the same.

He agreed to the job offer before he’d really thought it through. He’s grateful every day that he did.

* * *

Anna met Castiel at a club one night, funny enough. She’d been drinking (she’d always been drinking those days), and had started to feel woozy, nauseous. She’d made her way to the bathrooms and had been on her knees, face in the toilet, when she’d barely noticed a commotion just outside, though she’d been too focused on how unendingly miserable she felt to really pay attention.

Finally, a man had stepped into the women’s bathroom, propped the door open behind him and knelt beside her. He’d swept her long hair into capable hands and rubbed her back as she finished vomiting and shaking. 

“Shh, shh, you’re all right. Hush, now. You’re all right.”

He’d helped her stand, cleaned her up and wiped her face. He’d explained gently that he believed she’d been roofied, that he  was going to use her cell phone to call her a cab, and that she could tell the driver her address when she got in. He paid for her ride home, and when she’d woken up the next morning, she’d found the note he’d left in her jacket pocket, a phone number and  _ if you ever again find yourself in need. _

She’d texted him to thank him, and there began a wonderful friendship she wouldn’t give up for anything. When he’d text her, years later, about needing a server at a bar where he’d make certain she was protected, Anna already would have done almost anything for Castiel.

Accepting an offer for a better job was easy.

* * *

Cassie had been carrying Balthazar out of bars on and off for years. They’d met and struck up a tentative, flimsy sort of friendship. Cassie, soppy idiot that he was, wanted to “be there” for Balthazar. At the time, however, Balthazar was far too deep into cocaine use to be doing much maintenance for the friendships he  _ did _ have, much less for strangely stiff-backed men who spoke too formally.

When he hit rock bottom, however, ODing in the bathroom of a dive bar he shouldn’t have set foot in, it was Cassie who found him, and Cassie’s boyfriend Dean who drove him to the hospital. Cassie who contacted the therapist who finally made Balthazar see that rehab was the only way. Cassie was the only one who visited Balthazar in there, and he stayed in Cassie and Dean’s spare bedroom when he got out. 

And, when he was ready for steady employment, it was Cassie who hired him, dismissing his  _ colorful _ history in favor of his impressive culinary schooling with the phrase, “We’ve been thinking about starting an appetizer and dinner menu, anyway. Can you assist me with that, please?”

* * *

Charlie didn’t have an exceptionally sad story, per se. Her parents died young, of course, and her foster families had held little to no warmth as she grew up. She didn’t have any friends, since she wasn’t willing to let anyone be close to her.

(The closer they were, the more it would hurt when she lost them.)

She met Mr. W and Mr. N at the little diner Mr. N worked at and where they offered free wifi. Mr. W would cuss at his laptop and make moon eyes at Mr. N, and Charlie found herself hopelessly charmed.  She told herself that was as far as it would go.

But when her apartment got broken into, she called Mr. W first. He came at once, angry and protective and loud. He called a few more people and they packed up everything she owned that very night, stored her boxes in Mr. W and Mr. N’s garage, and Charlie stayed with them until Mr. W helped her find a better apartment in a safer neighborhood.

The floodgates were open after that.

She spent her holidays there, they made her a birthday cake, Mr. N would call to see if she was doing all right  _ just because. _ She ate meals there, watched the dogs when they were out of town, and found herself with two best friends who were at least ten years older than her and fiercely loyal to her.

When they needed a hostess? It was a no-brainer

* * *

Fresh from losing his mother, the center of his universe, the driving force behind everything he did, Kevin agreed when his roommate asked if he wanted to sneak into a local bar. He would have agreed to anything that let him  _ feel _ something.

How he got from that, to getting caught, to Mr. N pulling him aside, to sobbing in Mr. N’s arms in a tiny office while he wailed about missing his mother, Kevin will never really understand. He knows, though, that Mr. N started letting him come in after that, started texting him about homework and new shoes and “come here for dinner, please, I’ve made far too much.” Mr. N and Mr. W introduced him to the crew at The Bunker, the people who have become his family. Mr. W helped him get his driver’s license, buy a car, and talked him through the first panic attack he had when he wanted to ask a girl out.

Kevin never really got asked if he wanted to DJ at the bar. He was just given a schedule and started collecting a paycheck one day. He has some suspicions that the position may have been created  _ for _ him, actually. 

He’s too grateful to ask, though.

* * *

Jo Harvelle was just looking for a place that reminded her of her mom’s bar. While The Roadhouse is all wood floors, wood panelling, red leather booths, and a scarred bartop, whereas The Bunker is low lighting, chrome, black leather, and colored lights on the dance floor, in many ways they are the same. 

Her mom isn’t there to yell at her about her homework, but Castiel will ask about it from time to time. Her mom isn’t there to tell off guys who grope her, but Dean and Benny keep a sharp eye on the patrons at the bar. Maybe her mom is still a phone call and a few hundred miles away, but Jo’s part of a family just the same here.

* * *

Dean swears up and down that all he intended to do was start a club with Cas and staff it. Castiel, in all his years of knowing Dean inside and out, knows better, even if he does keep that knowledge to himself.

(It does get harder to do so when he sees Dean fret over one of their own, but keep it to himself he does.)


	12. You'll Stay With Us

Dean hasn’t spoken to his father in  _ years. _ He doesn’t need him. If he needs family, he’s got Cas. If he needs blood, he’ll call Sammy up and they’ll go to dinner. If he needs a parent, he’ll call his mom (and cross his fingers that she answers, but still). He doesn’t need an abusive, neglectful bastard in his life.

_ But damn, Dad, you couldn’t have picked up the phone? _

Dean doesn’t know what to do with another little brother. Sam’s all grown up, a lawyer who married a tough-as-nails nurse. Dean did his big brothering already. He just wants to run a damn might club with the love of his life, is that too much to ask?

When he presents the question to Cas, Cas gives him a gentle smile. “Have you, though? Dean, you take such good care of everyone around us, you always have. I will support you regardless of what you decide as far as Adam goes, but let’s not lie to ourselves, now.”

Dean scowls, but there’s no heat in it. “You know what I mean. I just… What the fuck am I supposed to do here, Cas? I didn’t ask for this.”

Cas shrugs. The movement is still a little stiff, like he’s not sure he’s doing it right. It’s endlessly cute.

“You didn’t,” Cas is saying while Dean is thinking about maybe kissing him senseless. “Adam is an adult, he’s not your responsibility. We can put him up in a motel for the night, if you like, and send him on his way.”

And the thing is, Cas means that. He genuinely does not give one fuck one way or another. Cas will never look at Dean differently if he rejects Adam now. Cas is sentimental, but only where sentimentality is earned. Cas is a painfully good person, but he puts Dean before everything else on the planet. If Dean says he can’t do this, quite literally nothing will change for Castiel.

“I don’t want to disrupt our life,” Dean says, mind already made up.

Cas smiles, because he knows, but is willing to play along. “You know I’ve always enjoyed having a third person in the house.”

“He doesn’t have a job.”

“Quite convenient, then, that we have an opening.”

“What about when he goes back to school?”

“Perhaps he and Jo can trade off those hours.”

“What if…” Dean swallows hard. “What if he says no? Or he bails after getting to know us? Know  _ me?” _ Because even after all this time, the sharp fear of rejection can still make him break out into a cold sweat.

Cas wraps both of Dean’s hands in both of his and leans forward until their foreheads are pressed together. Dean closes his eyes and presses into the comforting touch of Cas, the love of his life, his rock in the hailstorm that his life sometimes is.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. “He came all this way, did all this looking, just to find you. I think it’s highly improbable that he’s going to leave now.”

Dean clings tighter, wordless in his gratitude and confusion and need. Cas stays with him like that for a long time.

* * *

When Dean finally comes out front, Adam is staring at Charlie with something like awe on his face  _ (Jesus, he looks like Sammy at that age). _ She’s chattering away at about a hundred words a minute, clearly to keep him occupied and there.

Dean wants to be nice to the kid, he really does, but it’s been a damn long day and an even longer forty minutes.

He points to Adam and barks, “You!”

The kid jolts like a gun went off and stares at him, wild-eyed. “What? Me? What?”

_ “Yes, _ you. You got a place to stay?”

“Uh… No, but I-”

“Get your shit, then. You’re coming with me. We’ve got a spare bedroom. You allergic to dogs?”

Adam looks dazed. A vindictive part of Dean thinks  _ good. _ “No?”

“Good. Got a job yet?”

“Uh… What? No.”

“Fine. Cas said you took a semester off. You’re gonna tend bar part-time, you’ll stay with us, and we’ll figure out school when the time comes. Got that?”

_ “If,” _ Cas says, voice severe even though he’s smiling at Dean’s side, “that’s all right with you, Aam.”

Adam blinks a couple of times, looking around. The whole damn crew is here, doing a piss-poor job of pretending to work. Except for Charlie, who isn’t even pretending.

Slowly, Adam smiles a little. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds good.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Great. Let’s go. We’re meeting Sammy for diner. Prepare for an interrogation, kiddo, Sasquatch is six and a half feet of puppy dog eyes and ‘wanting to get to know you.’”

Adam’s eyes widen a little again, Charlie laughs, Cas says, and Dean thinks they might be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- It just felt right to post these 3 chapters together and get this situation nice and resolved for y'all. Have some light angst and fluff.


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